


You Feel Like the One When I Taste It

by oneforyourfire



Category: EXO (Band)
Genre: M/M, Rimming, Spanking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-14
Updated: 2019-04-14
Packaged: 2020-01-13 10:46:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,400
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18467365
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oneforyourfire/pseuds/oneforyourfire
Summary: Hurt me, he’d told him.Like you mean it, he'd told him.Your hands, Baekhyun, he’d told him.





	You Feel Like the One When I Taste It

**Author's Note:**

  * For [zannen](https://archiveofourown.org/users/zannen/gifts).



> i said ksoo gets subby for tiny dom line Only, but im a versatile and open-minded writer so here you go~

Baekhyun's got him how he wants him—how they both want him. Naked and flushed and draped across Baekhyun’s lap, his face buried in Baekhyun’s denimed thigh. Got him with kiss-tousled hair, kiss-bruised lips, too. Prettiest like this, though he’ll deny it. Resent it. Squirming impatiently, though he’ll deny and resent that, too. 

But Kyungsoo's voice is entirely too steady, breathing entirely too even. And really, it isn’t _exactly_ how he wants it. But almost. But close enough. Soon. Soon. 

Baekhyun drags his fingernails down his body, slow, red lines along the slender curve of his spine, over the lush swell of his ass, has Kyungsoo jerking with it, then arching, then pushing back, an offering or a challenge or a plea. A reminder. 

_Hurt me_ , he’d told him. _Like you mean it_ , he'd told him. _Your hands, Baekhyun_ , he’d told him. 

"Hurt me," he repeats. "Baekyun-ah," he says. 

But Baekhyun kneads into his ass instead, just to watch the skin dimple, spill. Just to hear the breathiness of Kyungsoo's groan. Just to feel the ridge of his cock grinding against his thigh. Baekhyun squeezes. Scratches. Taunts. Smacks once, light, an offering, too, a challenge, too, a reminder, too, but cruel, but mocking. 

And Kyungsoo's voice is deep, rough, entitled, demanding. _Again, Baekhyun_. Then _harder_. Then _again_. _Baekhyun, come on_. _More_. 

And oh, the way his excruciatingly ruddy, plush, parted lips tremble around his name, around their desperation-laced demands, breathy, broken moans. And the way his pale, pretty skin blooms red beneath his stinging palm. Hot, too. Quivering, too. And the drag of his kiss-bruised lips along Baekhyun’s knee. The sharp, impossible arch of his spine as he twists back, twists for more. And harder. And like you mean it, Baekhyun. Like I know you can, Baekhyun. Please. 

The punch of desire, it's full-bodied, monumental, an echoing rattle in his bones. 

Again. Harder. Again. Baekhyun. Baekhyun. Again. Harder. Harder. Harder. 

The muscles beneath Kyungsoo's skin ripple with an endless, beautiful shudder. And it's easy to get him here—where they both want him—easy when Baekhyun tries, when Kyungsoo relents. 

And Baekhyun strikes again, sharp, sure, steady. Hard. Then harder. And again and again and again. 

"Baekhyunah," Kyungsoo pants, pleads, reminds. 

Baekyun twists his fingers in his hair, tugs him back—painful, arresting. And Kyungsoo, pained, arrested, moans helplessly, ruts inelegantly against his thigh, smearing denim with precome. 

The next smack has them both moaning, but Kyungsoo so much louder, so much rougher. 

And again. And again. And again. 

_Hurt me, hurt me, hurt me_. 

Baekhyun tugs him off his lap by the hair, too, tosses him onto their rumpled bed. And Kyungsoo stumbles, moans, braces himself. He arches back still, begs for it, Baekhyun-ah, please, _fuck_. The white sheets are stark, beautiful against his flushed skin, impossibly black hair, bruised, ruddy lips. And Baekhyun wants to keep him like this always. Wants to ruin him beyond repair. 

He makes do instead. Curls his fingers around the nape of Kyungsoo’s neck, forces him down to appreciate the sight a little longer. Kyungsoo's moan, too. The slow, slow ripple of his tremor, heavy and helpless and pretty against his palm. 

Kneeling over him, looming, wanting, waiting, wanting, Baekhyun presses down harder, hard enough for Kyungsoo to twist, to pant, to blink up at him with glazed, dark, dark eyes. Baekhyun cups the heady heat of his racing pulse, fingers molding around the fine, fine muscles beneath his flushed skin. 

He burns. 

Baekhyun slides lower, harder, down the slope of his shoulders, over the tight, tight, trembling column of his spine, and Kyungsoo’s tremor is heavier, prettier, more helpless against his fingertips, his lips. 

Baekhyun spares a bite then another then just one more, waiting, wanting, waiting, burning, drunk on the sudden, slick, sloppy tug of Kyungsoo's strokes as Baekhyun nuzzles into his lower back, mouths over the abused, flushed, hot, hot skin. 

Baekhyun grazes the pad of his thumb over the pucker of his rim, circles, cirles, dips, brief and teasing, and Kyungoso’s entire body is quivering, moan a low, rough rumble of a plea. 

He dips again, deliberate, intentional, mouths meanwhile over the seam of his ass, kissing, licking, biting, teasing, teasing, teasing, taunting. 

Fumbling with the cap of strawberry lube, he opens him around just the tip of his finger as he soothes into the vague indents of his teeth, with his lips, his tongue, kisses over the goosebumps blooming across Kyungsoo’s warm, perfect skin. Waits, wants, waits. 

His first lick is wide, broad, lingering, has the muscles in Kyungsoo’s back shuddering then pulling taut, taut, taut with tension. 

He teases with this, too, slow and succulent, savoring it. 

And there’s urgency, entitlement in the sudden way Kyungsoo grinds back, once, twice, before Baekhyun squeezes his hips to hold him still. He licks again, circles, circles, pushes just the slightest bit inside, moaning through it. Through the next push of his tongue, too, curling, dragging purposefully over all the tiny, tiny grooves of him. 

And it’s heady, the helpless recklessness of his response, heavy and hot, the quiver of tiny, delicate muscles against his tongue, clenching desperate, devastating and sloppy and slick and musky and hot, hot, hot. 

“Baekhyun, Baekhyun, _fuck_.” 

Baekhyun, slow, slow, savoring, pushes his finger again, deeper, licks as he does. Then eases in another, licks around and between them, curling, crooking, dragging. He moans as Kyungsoo moans, shudders as he shudders, give, gives, gives as Kyungsoo—greedy, greedy, greedy—takes and takes and takes. 

There's a helpless reverence in it, a desperation, the roaring _need_ to leave him wrecked and sated and panting and broken, to tear him apart with his mouth, his hands. Like he means it. Like he wants it. Like he is going to ruin Kyungsoo for any other fingers, any other mouth, any other body, any other man. And Baekhyun wants to keep him here like this, shaking and moaning and bowing and gasping, all for him, only for him. 

Bumbling forward on the bed, Baekhyun tilts them back sharper, higher, licks and fucks and pushes deeper, deeper, deeper, determined to get at all the delicate, perfect, gripping, aching, aching corners of him. Where Kyungsoo needs him most. 

"Baekhyun, Baekhyun, _Baekhyun_." 

His tongue aches. His jaw. His wrist. His cock, most of all. It pulses, pulses, pulses. 

And Kyungsoo's body is hot and musky and wet and open and begging, begging, begging, and Kyungsoo is hitching his hips back again, rasping a heartbreaking rough, raw moan of Baekhyun's name, rustling the rumpled sheets beneath him with every tight, tight stroke of his cock. And it rattles through his entire body. The need. The need. The need. The ache. 

One hand stumbles down his own front, paws at his own crotch, and the scrape of his cotton briefs, stiff denim against the heel of his palm is painful, but it’s better—better than nothing at all. It calms the fire roaring through him as he pushes in harder, faster, swallows past the saliva and lube, intent on seeing it through, breaking, breaking, breaking.

Unraveling, teetering right on the edge, Kyungsoo’s voice cracks around husky, half-formed praises—fuck, Baekhyun, fuck, close, mouth, fuck, fuck, please. 

Fumbling, Baekhyun strikes once, off-center, clumsy, but Kyungsoo moans even louder, strokes himself off even faster, clenches even tighter, and Baekhyun squeezes again, spreads, smacks, licks and licks and licks, gets his fill like that, drunk on it as he strikes and fucks and licks again and again and again, Baekhyun, Baekhyun, Baekhyun. 

Kyungsoo whimpers—high, high, wrecked—pulls tight, tight, tight, sudden. And his climax is a gorgeous, heavy, trembling, shattering thing. And loud and full-bodied and perfect, perfect, perfect, Kyungsoo melting fully into the sheets as he moans and moans and moans, grinds back weakly against Baekhyun's fingers, his tongue all the while.

He shakes and shakes and shakes, melts. 

And it's this, this exactly, this Kyungsoo that Baekhyun most—

A boneless, breathless, beautiful heap on his bed, Kyungsoo's shaking still, recovering still as he throws a clumsy, inelegant, trembling arm back to swat at Baekhyun's shoulder, his throat, his scalp. Clumsy, inelegant, trembling, he twists his fingers in Baekhyun's hair, too, tugs, murmurs something soft or sharp or fond, tugs even harder. Baekhyun follows easy, weak, bumbling, overcome. He drapes over him, melts into him, kisses every flushed, quivering centimeter of boneless, breathless, beautiful man.


End file.
